This Man Was Mad
by skrewtkeeper
Summary: This man was mad, they said, which made every incidence okay. A dark look into how life would be if Dumbledore was actually crazier than we ever imagined. AU, Dark, MMAD -though how much of this context, I am uncertain .
1. Prologue: Madman

_A/N:__ I have thrown caution to the wind and have decided to just post this as it comes. Please bear with me-- this may be the biggest mistake of my life, but this is why I wish to take you with me... I cannot endure such tragedy on my own. This story came from the depths of my mind that I never roam-- the inner psyche where all darkness dwells and madness prevails. I apologize now for how infrequently I may update- I remain without my laptop until I fix my math grade, but until that day, may I present you the prologue... :D (I may update twice today, my dears-- barely two hundred words is a foul excuse for a prologue, but that is how this has come.) _

**Prologue**

The line on the wall was a beautiful red- russet, with the pain of a skewered artist's heart, as if he himself had bled the line. But he had not. Artists were perfectionists. This line drew the soft curves of the mountainside, ever wavering, ever pure. The line danced in a hearty crescendo before the music abruptly stopped.

Poised beneath the crimson rain lay a man, drenched in blood. It flowed freely from his fingertips and as he looked to the ceiling above him, the ceiling of a castle, shrouded in depressing darkness, his breath caught in his throat as he choked out, "Leave. . ._ .Her_."

But no one knew to whom he referred, for a moment thereafter, his eyes rolled back, sinking deeper into the dark abyss as the danger plundered on. No one knew the cause of it until a deep voice from the darkness said softly, "To kill a man is worse than it is to kill a madman. This man was mad."

No one questioned; it was absolute. The man had a mad funeral, was given a mad eulogy and even had a mad saying slapped on his cheap gravestone. _"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."_


	2. 0ne: The Wall

**0ne; **_The Wall_

The man was not always mad; in fact, appeared rather sane, even in his final months. But within these final months were the threads of single moments, woven so flawlessly together they created a beautiful tapestry in the end- the tapestry of his heart. . . .

"Albus, would you like it if I were to file those for you?" The question was entirely innocent, but also so indescribably genuine, holding the sincerity that could bring the world to its knees. Yes, this was Minerva.

"As a matter of fact, I would be quite appreciative if you _did_ lend me a hand. You know how well I fail in all manners of tidiness," Albus chuckled to himself, handing her the numberless documents that would run amok if he were the charge of them.

"No doubt you do. I cannot recall a time where you have _ever_ been tidy," she shot back, the bite lacking the precious sincerity, but abounding with playfulness; she was teasing him.

He smiled to himself as he turned his back to her, bringing the rest of the documents near the light of the fire to aid his reading. Determining them to be the correct ones, Albus handed them to her carelessly, his right hand exposed.

It did not go unnoticed by her, unlike the blissfully unaware owner of it. An unquenchable silence erupted between them and the carefree atmosphere suddenly went out, as if someone had extinguished the light of it with a breath of air.

"Minerva?" Albus asked, looking to her face as she stared at what was troubling her.

"Albus," she began in a hesitant whisper, and Albus was alarmed by her change in demeanor, "what _happened_?"

He moved his left hand to cover her motionless right, so near, so very near to his own right. She looked up as was expected, but what he saw in her emerald eyes was nothing he had ever seen before. There was the normal, quiet concern that she always carried in a manner such as this, but also within the gaze contained the untouchable depth of tenderness, a beauty scarce to be borne.

"Minerva?" he questioned softly. Before he moved toward her, the moment was shattered upon the bricks of the wall that rose so quickly in her stare that his head spun from the force of it. As she carefully moved the stack of papers from his hands, she inhaled deeply and bowed her head.

"Why do you never tell me anything anymore?" she inquired, speaking to the floor.

"This didn't seem to require any approval on your part," Albus explained gently. "It happened almost a fortnight before I expected the staff to return."

"Even so, it's been over a week. . . ."

"Even so," Albus echoed, though truthfully could make neither head nor tail of what he was missing. Something had deeply offended her, but he could not place exactly _how _he had somehow hurt her.

"Thank you for the… papers, Albus," she said quietly, making a point to connect her eyes with his, but again her gaze held that formidable wall, perhaps stacked to an even staggering height than before.

He nodded as she turned and walked from his realm, seeming to have the desire to bolt from his presence; the refraining of which was confirmed in her gait. As the door shut behind her, Albus sank heavily in his chair, the pain in his hand leaping out to him in waves as he did so. What had he done wrong?

* * *

_A/N: You know, I really don't think this should be under 'horror', but under a sub-category of 'blood and gore', which I don't go into much so far, but will in the future... These chapters are so short- it's driving me insane. :D Also, it is unimaginably difficult for me to underline on this website, (though it has been for a long time), but I am officially fed-up. Are there any other poor souls afflicted with this underlining problem? All I have to do is show it the utmost respect by underlining what I want underlined **first** and then we're fine to carry on with italicizing/bolding the same word/s, but I find it irritating because that dreadful 'U' is the last on the list and I'm sorry, but I like to go in order with bolding, italicizing, and THEN underling. Anyway, I am sorry you read that, and I shall promptly shut up. :D  
_


	3. Two: The Fall

**Two; **_The Fall_

The ominous silence persisted, even after the term began. Minerva seemed ordinarily brisk, as was her normal appearance, but Albus could sense that she was withholding something, almost as if she were only allowing a shadow of herself to dictate her actions.

The prime example of this behavior was at the dinner table; while they had once spoken in light tones, coaxing gay laughter from one another, this was gone. Now she spoke to him only when necessary and only spoke directly to him when spoken to. This would not bother him so much, perhaps, if she sat in other places, but the tradition held true- she sat in the same seat for over thirty years and did not seem inclined to break from it.

It was the beginning of the third week when he could ignore it no longer and resolved to mend whatever he had broken that day. It was a Sunday, and though he recognized the infraction of her time while calling upon her when he knew she was busy, he felt he had no other choice. If things did not look up soon, when would they?

With trembling trepidation, he knocked three times, and though he knew that she knew that only he knocked in this manner, she called for him to come in as though he were an ordinary caller. Albus shook his head at the thought. To fantasize being a caller for Minerva certainly required mental health intervention; she clearly was uninterested in his pitiful pleas to bind his heart to hers. Even so, it did not stop him from dreaming of the possibility. . . .

"Yes Albus?"

Albus looked behind him, as if expecting someone with the same name to answer her. Realizing he was simply being foolish, he cleared his throat and said softly, "I'm sorry Minerva; I am afraid I lost my train of thought."

She pursed her lips at him and remained seated, causing him to feel all the more uncomfortable. "Perhaps it would be in your best interest to write things down. One forgets far less when he does so." He winced at the tone of her voice, but she did not back down.

"I am sorry that you think so little of me."

"I don't think little of you Albus."

Albus looked into her eyes and found nothing to contradict her. "If you don't think little of me, why is it that you no longer instigate our conversations? Why am I the only one starting them?"

She frowned at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do, my dear--" Albus began apologetically, speaking as she opened her mouth, "--I miss speaking with you."

She shook her head, seeming as though she found her explaining the problem too draining. "As I do you, but propriety dictates action, I'm afraid and I find I have nothing I need to say to you."

"I didn't mean it like that," Albus began with a sigh, "I miss speaking with you… as a friend. I'm not exactly certain what I have done wrong, but I promise I shall do anything within my power to right it."

Surprisingly, she twisted a smile at him and laughed lightly. "You were always too selfish to find it in your power to let anyone know if you found yourself among demons. . . .You need not suffer alone, Albus, especially if you have _friends _among you to lessen your grief."

He looked into her eyes then and found the source of her silence, her hurt, and the wall came tumbling down. The cause of the rift in their friendship was in himself alone.

"I am sorry that I did not realize you needed to know what my holiday entailed," he mumbled, shuffling his feet shyly as he did so. "Is it too selfish of me to admit that I do not realize how highly other people value me?"

"No," she began, "but it is excusable for a price." She stood and walked before him and he was struck by how ordinarily she was dressed-- the same emerald robes fell to the floor in a regal fashion and the same heels held her a head shorter than he, but her presence was restored that uncanny adjective that was her; she was Minerva again, and no longer the withdrawn professor he had grown accustomed to for over three weeks.

"And what do you desire?" he asked, his eyebrows raised, his lips obeying the smile that came of its own accord.

"A great many things, but a trip to Hogsmeade this weekend will suffice, I suppose."

He bowed his head before her as he chuckled, "Whatever I must do to keep my Deputy," he teased, his tone serious.

"I am glad you know who truly has the higher aim in this relationship," Minerva replied, an impish smirk on her face as she shooed him away with the complaint of essays to grade. As Albus walked out the door, he grinned, feeling lighter than he had felt in weeks. . . .

* * *

_A/N:__ I have nothing to say to you apart from the fact that updates will become far less frequent as soon as I'm back in school next week... Just so you aware that when I disappear I haven't died or anything. :D_


	4. Three: The 0nly Confidant

**Three; **_The Only Confidant  
_

The old man sat in his office chair, his mind thumbing through the activities of the week, or of what little he could hold in his head; the pain was almost too much to numb with happiness.

"You haven't done as I have prescribed."

The man with the snow-white beard smiled softly; how youth did not know how age thought!

Severus spotted the smile and scowled. "It's your life you are throwing away, but I thought it was in your best interest to keep your heart beating for as long as strictly possible. Carry on like this, and you won't have any more time to smile. Your pain will be too great for that."

Albus Dumbledore opened his eyes as the internal intensity of the pain dulled to a mere throb under the Potion Master's administration. "How can I take a potion that numbs not only my pain, but every emotion in my body?" he inquired simply, searching the blackened eyes of the only confidant he had. Well, Minerva was rapidly becoming one, but Severus knew more than she did. . . .

Severus snorted as he examined the burnt old hand, pressing it at odd points with his fingers. "You _are_ mad. The pain will drive you madder, if that is even _possible_ considering the circumstances, but you will no longer feel life worth living."

"Precisely, Severus," Albus noted back amicably. "This is why I need you to do something for me."

"This is as far as my knowledge can stretch for this sort of thing," Snape replied, suddenly serious. "If you wish to live longer, speaking in years or decades, another master is in order."

"Do you believe that I need to live longer, Severus?"

Snape frowned at him, his thick eyebrows contracting together and fusing a thick onyx line of doom. Albus smiled internally at the funny brow…

"Well, I assumed that you placed higher value in those around you. No one knows of your failing health apart from me. Is that not selfish of you?"

"Selfish though it may seem, Severus," Albus suddenly snapped his tongue, however lightly, but the burnt of the blow was tangible in the atmosphere, "it is imperative that you remain the sole confidant."

A moment of reverent silence followed, but, "What about Minerva?"

Dumbledore frowned and brought his good hand to wipe what Minerva would call 'nonsense' from his eyes. "So you _have_ noticed," he whispered wistfully, as though in awe of Snape's intelligence.

Severus scoffed. "I would be a fool to miss it, what with the both of you fluttering about like incandescent teenagers."

Albus graced him a happy smile before his mood captured the lingering sobriety and he aged all over again. "Severus, I am an old man. Minerva, though certainly not young by any means deserves better than what I can grant--"

"The inadequacy speech has become lackluster," Severus interrupted impatiently.

Dumbledore smiled again. "So it has. However, there are still some startling similarities between--"

"If she loves you, is that not enough?"

He shook his head, a different tactic tumbling out of his mouth. "I cannot provide her happiness for much longer and I feel--"

"An irritatingly wise old man once told me that one should be far more engrossed in present cares instead of future ones."

"I grow weary of your presence," Albus joked.

"It is _about_ time," Severus sighed in exasperation before glancing at the grandfather clock situated near the cabinet of whirring instruments. He stood to leave, but before he could turn from the desk, a thought seemed to strike him with impressionable force.

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

"If you stop taking that potion, your death will be slow and painful-- possibly more than you realize. I believe it is similar to those muggles undergoing treatments for what they call 'kanzer', but worse. You will start bleeding where you never believed blood existed--"

Dumbledore held up his good hand for silence. "As appreciative as I am of your concern, Severus, you needn't worry about me. I still have a bit of fabric remaining to knit. It is not much, I agree, but it is enough." At the sight of Severus opening his mouth again to speak, Albus then added, "Do not feel burdened by me, Severus; I shall only come to you when I can no longer bear it."

Snape nodded curtly, both out of what Albus perceived as irritation and frustration, but if death did not include sacrifice, to what worth was it?

* * *

_A/N:__ Ensure the following post. Review. Oh yes, 'kanzer' equals 'cancer', you see? One more thing; I had to re-update this because Severus's lines were neglected. He didn't have any of his words italicized apart from one, and I really wanted his voice inflections to press upon your minds... -nods wisely like a mystical being- :D  
_


	5. Four: He Had Never Seen

**Four;**_ He Had Never Seen_

It was the warmth that had woken him. He had dozed off; he chastised himself for his foolishness. What if someone had sought him out, had looked for him while he lingered in silent slumber? That would have certainly been unforgivable, especially if who had found him had been one of those ignorant ones. This was what the stupid old man had started to call them. They were called 'ignorant' if they knew nothing of his pain. Only one professor truly knew everything- Severus, his only confidant. But what if Minerva had found him this way? She would have sprung to action, never knowing that her works to heal him would not help.

He had woken in blood.

It wasn't much, but enough to certainly have caused some alarm. It seemed to have seeped from within, crawling up his throat until his lungs could no longer bear it as he coughed in his sleep. He remembered coughing; how could he have forgotten it? The venomous tentacular had forced its tentacles down his windpipe and he _naturally_ struggled to breathe as he slept. He had coughed and sputtered to no avail as he heard voices calling his name, whispering words he could not fully understand.

He heard _her. _"Mi--?" He tried, but the word was twisted, muffled, indistinguishable. It sounded like he spoke with his mouth full, and he could hear her yelling at him to speak only when he had actually swallowed his food, but he could not explain that he was choking on this "food". He woke suddenly, gasping for air, knowing full well what the dream implied.

He needed to tell Minerva.

Time was no longer on his side. Their outing to Hogsmeade had a week alone to breathe. It had become increasingly easier to speak to her and they were again, upon normal terms, but the terms he yearned to reach were far deeper and would inflict more pain upon his leave. More pain, even, then the radiating pain that seemed to stem behind his beating heart. . . .

He siphoned the blood off his desk with a precise finger before transforming the face of his desk to reflect the man before it. He looked no better. His mouth and beard were drenched with the stuff. Sighing, he used the mirror as a guide, placing his hair back to its former, wispy and white order. Satisfied, he considered turning in before a small knock at the door surprised him.

Chastising himself again for not listening to the wards, he said, "Enter," and was appalled at how feeble it seemed. He cleared his throat as the intruder appeared.

Dobby, it seemed, was more accustomed to formality than convenience. Most house-elves of his caliber would appear, but Dobby insisted that the Headmaster required a formal entrance. Albus shook his head as he smiled softly at the newcomer. "Dobby, what brings you here?" he asked.

"Dobby brings a letter to Hogwarts' Headmaster, sir," he replied, seeming to tremble with excitement as he presented the sealed parchment on a tray. "Dobby be sure to give it to Master Albus as soon as he was able for this is important--" he broke off, and got a strange look on his face as he related in a whisper, "--this is from the Headmaster's Miss Minerva."

Albus drew his eyebrows together in thought, thanking the little elf for the letter before he scurried away at length. Why would Minerva send him a letter through an elf? It wasn't exceptionally out of the ordinary; she had sent him letters before and was certainly bound to give him a letter through a house-elf at some time or another, but something struck him as odd. It wasn't like her to send a letter so late, and Dobby was always prompt, no matter what he said. Pushing the questions from his mind and his spectacles closer to his eyes, he began to read.

Three minutes later, Albus made a decision. He had never seen this letter, and it was going to go back exactly where Dobby had found it.

* * *

**A/N:** _Horrible excuse for a cliffy; I apologize. I do have more of this scene and I couldn't decide if it should go all by itself or come along with this bit. This seems to end nicely though. -shrugs- The following post has a cliffy too, but after that, we've got action between Albus & Minerva. Hurrah. It's about time, eh? :D_


	6. Five: Utterly To Stone

**Five; **_Utterly to Stone_

The words reverberated in his mind. They didn't even seem to indicate Minerva thought of him in the manner he assumed she did. She spoke to him as if he were a different being entirely, as though she had written his name to begin it by accident…

He was "kind", "lovable", and all of those other dastardly things he was to one of those old spinsters who sent him letters as a game of love. There was some lingering sincerity in the letter, however, as if she actually meant what she had written…

Albus shook his head quickly. He needn't think up elaborate ways for why it was written. She had simply written his name out of habit, thought of someone else, and then proceeded from there…

It sounded even more ridiculous in his head.

Regardless of that, she wouldn't have sent him the letter so late. She was surely asleep… The thought made him pause in his journey. He wondered if her hair was down. It surely would be; he knew wearing things in one's hair was bothersome for bedtime affairs. Her face would for once, be peaceful, untroubled by the way of the world… relaxed, even, so unbreathably beautiful… _Minerva_.

He shook his head roughly and continued in his pursuit, growing more irritated with himself all the while. The fact of the matter was that she loved him, in secret, nonetheless, and he did not need to prey upon her vulnerability. She might not even desire him as the letter implied. It could have been a cruel joke, and the thought sent a dagger through his aching heart. No, the penmanship was undeniably hers; nevertheless, he would pursue her as gently as before. She would never know his pain.

The pain seemed even more unbearable as it clenched his heart with what would never be. He was so selfish sometimes; it boggled the mind. Once savior of the Wizarding World and he couldn't even save himself.

He reached her door by this time, the trembling trepidation only intensified by tenfold compared to his last visit to call upon her. _He would seek her in the darkness and carry her home._

He shook his head again. Now was not the time for straying thoughts, but how could he fully determine where this letter had been? It was foolish of him to even desire returning it. He could keep it and simply pretend nothing had happened and spare the both of them the embarrassment. But the letter in his possession would cause Minerva worry, and this is what he aimed to avoid at all costs. Bringing it up with Dobby might stir greater possibility of rumors than why it was sent in the first place, so he decided against approaching the little elf and instead turned to the door of his heart's desire before a voice turned him utterly to stone.

"Albus? What are you doing outside my chamber at this time of night?"

* * *

**A/N: **_Succeeding post to shortly follow because this cliffy is really mean. :D_**  
**


	7. Six: Necessary Vs Unnecessary

**Six;**_ Necessary vs. __**Un**__necessary_

"I could ask the same of you, my dear."

His response was feeble; he knew it, and he watched her irises slowly turn aflame.

"It is no business of yours where I've been," she remarked tartly, cutting through his solidity with what she mentioned next in a soft voice. "What probed such a late-night visit?"

"I--I--"

She seemed to sense his hesitancy and amended, "Albus, if it isn't urgent, you can always come in the morning--"

"No, I have put this off for far too long."

His blunt response surprised the both of them. He looked to his hands, holding the parchment between them, and as he stowed it in the pocket of his robes, he was keenly aware of how old they must seem to her, even at her age. But she still had youth on her side; age had not marked her hands as of yet, and he probably never would see such an occurrence. . . .

"Well, what is it?" she crooned softly, touching his arm to force the eye-contact. He made the connection and saw the beautiful tenderness lingering there yet again. His heart ached to cause her worry.

He stalled in spite of the warmth her touch brought him. "I came to wish you good night."

"Oh." He sensed her quiet disappointment as her hand left his arm, leaving it colder than it had been before her touch had warmed it. "That was very sweet of you, Albus," she stated weightily, "but completely unnecessary--"

"It _was_ necessary, Minerva," he countered, boldly bringing his good hand to touch her warm cheek and smiled inwardly as it flushed beneath his touch. "I'll tell you the rest come tomorrow evening."

"I see," she replied in a hoarse whisper. "If that is all--"

"It is."

She looked at him again and he dropped his hand. When he did so, she smiled ever so imperceptibly at him. "Good night, Albus."

"Good night, Minerva."

Her door was shut before he nearly sank to the floor; how much was foolishness worth upon one of his final days?

**

His word choice was lax; his cough had woken him twice after he had properly gone to bed, and his nerves tingled every time he thought of her.

Perhaps this was a sign he should go back to bed.

But that would worry her further. Albus groaned as he pulled the covers closer to his chin, cursing whoever had kept the curtains open until he remembered it was his own doing.

He would never fall back to sleep now, and it was barely five.

No, seven. It was seven. Disgustingly early nevertheless.

He rubbed his eyes and swung his legs over the threshold, feeling every bone in his body protest as his feet made contact with the cold floor. Wincing, he brought his hands to the spectacles on his nightstand and noticed a shimmering potion standing there.

Surely, it was Severus' doing, and the thought struck a chord with him. Perhaps the appearance of the potion he was meant to take for the pain was a bad omen.

In that case, the bed began to look far more inviting. . . .

"Albus?" a voice called from his office door; so far away from his quarters. He lazily swung his hand over himself to dress with magic and slowly made his way to his desk.

"Enter," he called once he reached it, pleased his voice regained its former luster.

A bustling woman entered, carrying six potions in her hands. Albus sighed to himself; Poppy knew less than Minerva did.

"Ah, Poppy," he smiled. "What brings you here?"

"Severus prescribed _this_." She made a face as she passed him the vial. "It's better than the last batch, he says, but it still--"

"--carries the same side-affects," he finished for her, nodding slightly. "Yes, I am aware."

"I'm sorry," Poppy said solemnly.

Albus grinned. "No no, there's no need to be sorry. It's not as if I'm to whisk a mistress off to bed with me anytime soon!"

His joke wasn't as enthusiastically received. Poppy gave him a sort of funny look before smiling slightly. "Yes, very well then," she said quickly to cover her first reaction before changing the subject. "Severus stressed that you take it _only_ when the pain is the worst, not before, and if you suppose an 'attack' as it were is coming on, you should speak with him about how much exactly to take. This isn't exactly my field of medicine and I'm sorry I can't help you more--"

"Oh, my dear Poppy, you have helped me far enough," he waved her supposed inadequacy with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"If you're sure--"

"Most assuredly."

"Then I must be off; some tykes in the Hufflepuff Common Room managed to unleash a pandemic of Vanishing sickness."

Albus chuckled. "It seems to be of the Weasley variety."

"Indeed, which is what I thought, but the masters of the trade don't sell products like it. I believe it's more of a case of homesickness myself."

Albus nodded in understanding. "Most likely. Be sure to give whoever responsible ample amounts of chocolate and perhaps a visit from their family is in order. Make the arrangements, would you please?"

"Of course, Headmaster."

She left following that, and Albus scratched his head at _two _similar vials he now had floating around his rooms.

* * *

**A/N:** _There. That's a better cliffy, right? :D_


	8. Seven: The Reciprocal

**Seven; **_The Reciprocal_

Faces, images, were all seen from right-to-left; backwards, for the lack of words. It seemed strange, really. The last thing he remembered was going through his office door.

And everything went black. Perhaps he had hit his head.

No, he would be far more disoriented and time would have been lost to him. Time still held a conceptual value. He could hold it in his hands, but the grains of sand were slipping faster than he could catch; it hurt his arms to hold them out for so long.

So he let them drop to his sides, where he descended into complete darkness.

Perhaps _incomplete_ darkness. His surroundings, though lost to him through this darkened state of vision, memory had not failed him. He knew exactly where he was. But being blind certainly had its disadvantages.

For one thing, he was shaky on his feet. When he stood, his knees quickly buckled beneath him, as if he had gained twice his weight all in one sitting, or he had had too much firewhisky to drink. Yet, he knew in his inner mind that neither of these strange ideas were true. He was still in the stairwell, which funnily enough, had automatic lighting which would light up if someone were going up or down. Since he had "exited", the candlelight had disappeared, nevertheless, eyesight was of no use to him anyway.

It was only unfortunate Minerva did not expect him for another four hours.

**

He woke slowly, feeling every particle in his body cringe in pain as control over his body rushed to him in agonizing sensation. It felt as though he had been stung by grindylows. Dozens of them. Hundreds of them. _Thousands_ of them. Even with the shock of the pain, waking was slow and tedious. He was swimming through water, coughing, sputtering, _gasping_. . . .

He tested his eyes with such care. The light had vanished away; it was surely night. Minerva was probably infuriated with him.

Minerva.

His eyes flew open and he ignored the agony this caused as the sights before his eyes flew swiftly towards his optic nerves. His head spun from the force of it, and he sat up to attain a better view. He was no longer in the stairwell, but was lying in the faculty portion of the hospital wing. He rubbed his eyes, nearly brushing his spectacles from his face before he looked beside him.

There she was, though silent in her vigil, though exhausted in her vigil, though _sleeping soundly_ in her vigil, he smiled at her. He sat straighter as he realized he meant something to her. His eyes caressed her profile, slowly moving down her regal jaw-line, the nape of her neck, her hair splayed upon it invitingly, her entire body drooped in supreme relaxation and he caught himself in a dreamy sigh. This was she who he dreamed of; this was she who held his heart with every soft breath she took, with every exhale she expelled, with every heartbeat he knew throbbed within her breast. This was Minerva, this beautiful woman who he would have for the shortest of time spans, and as he came upon that objection, he cursed Fate in his mind; what god in heaven would place such beauty, such splendor, such magnificence before him to only take it all away?

She stirred which caused his heart to give way. He groaned within himself as he watched her stretch in slumber before sleep claimed her once more. He soared on the high that was she and he feigned sleep as he sensed her slowly wake.

In his mind's eye, he could just see her; her face bathed in worry, or perhaps not- her jaw would be taut, her eyebrows heavy with concern, but the true emotion would be in her emerald jewels that would glitter at him with that elegant tenderness he found he adored. She would never know it, and he would never tell her.

He heard her sigh and longed to reciprocate, but her whispered words bedazzled him. "Albus, you don't understand."

His eyebrows came together before he could stop them; what didn't he understand? As he puzzled this over, his shriveled hand suddenly burned with the sensation of warmth- a reaction only brought on by her.

It only burned further when she pulled it to her lap, where she touched every finger before bringing it higher to salute the sun that was surely rising by now. She brought the dead husk higher in the sky until it met something softer, something much more inviting than her hands. She had kissed it.

Then, she let it go as light seemed to enter his closed eyelids. She slowly guided it back to the other hand beside him and he sensed her standing over him; her hair was in ebony ringlets, curly because she hadn't combed it. Fitful sleep would be evident in her facial features, but she still would be utterly beautiful, so much so that the word alone would never suffice. . . .

"_Come, my dear,"_ he pleaded gently within his mind. _"Tell me what I don't understand."_

Her lips softly, tentatively, met his and he could no longer bear it- he reciprocated.

* * *

**A/N:** _FLUFF! What more must I say? :D  
_


	9. Eight: The Great Escape

**Eight;**_ The Great Escape_

They held hands, and then he spun her in dizzying circles, testing her limits. She had none and he smiled. She laughed. He touched her and she sighed, ever so delicately. He sighed in turn at the soft sound that had escaped her lips so gently, so softly…

They went back to spinning in dizzying circles; this way and that, forwards and backwards, left-to-right. Side-to-side. An uncharacteristic, choppy kind of advancement, but one she found she adored. She touched his cheek.

He let her poise him there; he allowed her to finger his hair, his beard, his all… And at her soft smile, his heart gave way. He pulled her closer and kissed her cheek. Her cheeks became rosy and he smiled more still. She was so inexpressibly beautiful when she did that…

She returned the favor, and all the world was lost to them.

;;'';;'';;'';;''

"You _can't_ be serious!" Her irate tone indicated fury, and all who knew her well steered clear of her when she sat fixed in one of these moods. The bed before her was empty with a small, almost criminal note of, "Back soon."

Almost on impulse, she catapulted herself to the window, as if expecting to find the fugitive beneath the glassy (and _dirty_, she noted with a wrinkled nose) windows of Hogwarts school, but he was nowhere. He could have fallen off the edge of the earth and no one would have known it.

But, ah! A clue of sorts. The bed, though empty, had the chair beside it. Customary though it was for the teachers beds to have chairs beside them, this arrangement struck Poppy as odd. The chair was turned _towards_ the bed, and she was very well-aware of how she had left it the night before-- Poppy hadn't touched the chair at all, so _someone_ left with him.

A name sprang to her mind, but so as to not jump to conclusions, Poppy set foot in the corridors, planning to seek the help of one of her best friends to nab the culprit in the greatest escapee act in Hogwarts history!

;;'';;'';;'';;''

No sooner than the spinning began that it stopped. Albus lazily laid beneath a tree, miles from the school and Minerva sat beside him, keeping a close eye on his state. He closed his eyes and fell into a light daydream.

Minerva stared at him with wandering eyes; she made certain he breathed, for he never tired this easily before, and she quietly inspected every inch of him, losing herself in gazes of admiration instead.

"If you'd really like to know--" his soft voice interrupted her pursuit and her blasted cheeks turned crimson; "--I'm not going to swoon, though with you beside me, my dear, I wonder if I may…"

She slapped his face, grinning as he squinted in pain, as though the sunlight stung his eyes like bees. She turned away, her gaze focused on the view while she sensed him advancing upon her in a dead-quiet crawl. But he was quicker than her. Just as she turned to face him, he tackled her, and they both laid sprawled out on the grass.

She stared up at him, his eyes a beautiful cerulean, and his beard so white. She reached up to touch him, but he completely pinned her limbs down with magic and kissed her lips so gently, she forgot how to breathe. When he let her breathe properly again, he said softly, a whisper on the wind, "I love you Minerva. That's what I was trying to tell you. You see, I received a letter from you professing of your love and I was so shocked you returned my feelings that I intended on returning the letter while you were asleep. Unfortunately, that did not go as planned--"

"Letter?" she asked, confused as he let her sit up again. "I didn't write you a letter."

He frowned, "But Dobby delivered it to me-- it was your handwriting, your stationery, your perfume--"

"Albus, I didn't write you a letter."

His eyebrows came together in thought. "You don't think--"

"Oh, I _think_." Minerva snapped, her anger lashing out like a fiery whip. "She is going to die when I get a hold of her--"

"But Minerva," he began again softly, "don't you think there is a far more profitable thing we can do here?" His eyes gleamed with mischief as his intent escalated. "There is certainly some fun to be had now!"

Minerva glared at him. "But Albus, there is no need. All we need are the proper materials to torture her and we'll be even again--"

"--I was about to ask for _your _humor, my dear. Your evil, devilish humor. It would be fun, and I am sure I will have my own fun with this."

"Consider it done, but what of your health, Albus?" she asked suddenly, her anger evaporated as she closely inspected him again. Her concern for him caused his heart to melt all over again. "May this compromise it further?"

Albus looked at her and gently touched her cheek. "My love, if you are here beside me, I have nothing to fear. If you are here beside me, my health cannot fail me. Just remember that."

"Albus," she replied in the sweetest of whispers, "I love you. I am so happy you finally understand."

* * *

**A/N:** _Wampa. :D Last week was so crazy and now this week is going to be the same. I wrote this about a month ago and I'm sorry it wasn't up sooner. Please review. Please? Please, oh please? -sniffles in corner- I'll cherish your review forever, I promise! :D And oh my gosh... I almost can't separate different parts of the story anymore without a whole line. My goodness, asterisks are spam, but a whole line of apostrophe marks and semi-colons isn't spam at all, no sir. -tries to quell imminent rant- :D  
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